Ron's Worries
by missxcellophane
Summary: Ron becomes overprotective after Rose invites Al and Scorpius over for the summer and spends a week at the Malfoy residence. After they arrive at Hogwarts, Scorpius is greeted with a surprise that leaves Rose in place to have what she truly wants.
1. Flowery Names

"I knew we shouldn't have named her Rose," Ron groaned, face buried in his hands. His shoulders slumped in the style of a man defeated. "This is all your fault, Hermione. _Rose_."

The redheaded Auror was seated at the family's kitchen table, which was tidier than it used to be, now that both of Weasley children were in school, Rosie about to finish her sixth year, and Hugo his fourth. Still, the tabletop was covered in work papers from both of their jobs at the Ministry, not to mention the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, and a scroll of parchment that had been bound with the sky blue ribbon their daughter was fond of.

"What's wrong with the name Rose?" Hermione asked, bemused by her husband's dramatics. She had only just arrived home, Ron having beaten her because she'd been detained by Percy, who wanted to interrogate her about a Ministry issue. "It's a lovely name. I quite like it. And what R name would you have chosen instead? Rosmerta?" She knew it was a low, easy blow, but it was hard to resist. And anyway, he was being absurd. "And _what_ is my fault?"

Ron pulled his hands away from his face and winced. "She wants to bring home Malfoy's son," he said, picking up he parchment before him and then letting it drop back to the table. "She wants to know if he and Al can spend the summer."

"Well, that sounds perfectly pleasant," Hermione replied amenably, leaning over to smooth out the parchment and scan it herself. "About time, even. The boy has been in her letters since her first year, and we have yet to formally meet the boy. Seeing him from a distance at King's Cross or Diagon Alley simply doesn't cut it."

Ron gawped at his wife as if she'd morphed into Uric the Oddball and slapped a jellyfish on her head. "Are you mad?" he asked, aghast.

"No, not the last time I checked. Why?" Honestly, he was being so silly. She hadn't seen him like this in ages. Obviously, he was deeply concerned about _something_, but _what_ was utterly eluding her.

Ron seemed frustrated, grabbing up the letter again. "Honestly, Hermione, for the smartest witch in our year and possibly all existence, you can be really thick, you know that?" Hermione snorted. Ron held the letter up level to her, as if his point was written there in large scarlet letters, and cleared his throat. "First of all, while I'm sure he's a nice boy, he _is_ Malfoy's son, so we would probably have to deal with him at some point in the picking him up or giving him back."

"Good heavens, no," Hermione commented, giving Ron a droll look. He continued, undaunted.

"Second of all, this is our daughter asking for a boy to come stay in our home. Her home. A boy. Look, Hermione, I know boys, I was one, and you can't trust us!" His freckled nose wrinkled in a way Hermione had long found quite endearing.

"I stayed at your at your house during the summer when we were their age," she reminded him patiently. "Nothing happened. Harry stayed over, and nothing happened with him and Ginny."

Ron looked like he was considering saying something tartly, but instead pointed out, "Yeah, but I was thinking it." Hermione laughed, resting her hand on the back of his neck. "And we had all my siblings around. Would have been impossible not to get interrupted. Here we'd only have Al and Hugo."

Hermione said dryly, "Well, if it would make you feel better, we could invite all of the kids. Freddy, Roxanne, Albus, James, Lily, Molly, Lucy, Dominique, Louis, Victoire—why not even add in Teddy, and Luna's twins? That would be, what, thirteen plus Hugo? That would be even more crowded than your house was. They couldn't possibly get up to anything then, by your reasoning."

"But—it's different," Ron argued desperately, quite obviously aware he was losing ground swiftly.

"Different because this is your baby?" Hermione prodded gently.

Ron sighed, expression becoming misty. "Yeah. I mean…I remember when I first held her, 'Mione. She was so tiny and delicate. Perfect. And we just looked at each other, her with her wide blue eyes, and I thought, 'Bloody hell, how am I not going to break this thing?' After trying not to drop her came trying not to teach her swear words, or—well—not get _caught_ teaching her hexes." At his wife's tart look, he said defensively, "What? The kid had to know how to protect herself from Slytherins!" His face turned morose again. "And now I have to worry about her dating one."

Hermione patted his shoulder. "Has it ever occurred to you that they may simply be friends? I could have sworn Rosie referred to him as having a girlfriend."

Ron waved the thought away. "Not the point, dear. I'm just…I worry about her."

"I know you do," Hermione replied fondly. "And that's why you have to just trust her."

"How did you get so wise, eh?" Ron grumbled, though there was no heat to it.

Hermione just chuckled. "So, young Scorpius is coming to visit us, yes?"

"Yes," Ron agreed, resigned. "But I'll hex his limbs off if he tries anything. That's fair, right?"

"Right. And you know, if you're really that worried, you could give Rose the talk."

"What talk?" Ron asked absently, before he looked up, eyes wide. "What, _that_ talk? I thought you gave her that talk!"

"I did, three years ago," Hermione answered. "But if you'd like to make any additional points, before she graduates would probably be prime time…"

With the exception of Bill, none of the Weasley family was particularly prone to tanning, but what little color he'd had left Ron's face in a horrified drain. "You can't be serious."

Hermione simply smiled. Ron groaned once more. "Fine, fine, I'll talk to her, but I won't like it."

"I doubt she will, either, love," Hermione said amusedly, kissing her husband on the forehead before taking the letter from him. "So, I'll write her back telling her how delighted we'll be to have her friend here."

"Can't believe you talked me into this," Ron noted half-heartedly. "Thank Merlin I love you so much."

Hermione just beamed and took a seat at the table to begin writing the reply message, but paused just as she dipped her quill into inkwell. "You know, you never explained one thing."

"What's that?" Ron asked distractedly, having just picked up the Daily Prophet and, as was his custom, immediately flipped to the Sports section to read his little sister's latest article on the Holyhead Harpies (Ginny's former team) completely demolishing the Chudley Cannons.

"What does the name Rose have anything to do with this?" Hermione pondered, dipping the quill again before starting on the letter.

Ron grimaced. "Flowery names. For some reason, Slytherin blokes just adore witches with flowery names. You remember Malfoy dated that Pansy Parkinson bint for ages, and his mum's name was Narcissa. Snape was obsessed with Harry's mum, Lily. It's something about bloody flower names."


	2. Conversations Over Dishes

"Is your father alright?"

Rose looked up at Scorpius, who was busily scrubbing a plate from dinner. She'd been a little surprised when he had volunteered to do it, as while the Malfoys had taken a dip in status after the war, they were still well-to-do, but Scorpius had explained as they washed that his mother had been forced to learn when she was young, so she had made a point of teaching him.

"What d'you mean?" Rose asked, nudging Albus on her opposite side and nodding towards the soap. He handed it to her, and she poured some into the pot she'd been scraping the inside of with a rather mangy sponge.

"Well, he was kind of…" Scorpius paused and shrugged, passing the plate around her to Albus, who started drying it. "Quiet. And he didn't look very happy. I thought you said he was, I don't know, pretty easy-going and cheerful. This is the man who helped make Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes such a widespread venue?"

"He is, yeah," Albus offered, putting the plate in the cupboard. "Dunno why he was like that. Aunt Hermione seemed normal."

Rose frowned, emptying sudsy water from the pot before pouring more in. He _had_ been abnormally somber, barely saying two words after they had arrived and he'd hugged her, Hugo, and Al. He didn't say anything to Scorpius, just kept that stony expression. It was definitely not her father's usual way.

The only real reaction out of him was when Al mentioned that they would leave half a week before the summer was over to stay briefly with the Malfoys. He had been taking a bite, but choked, coughing as his wife smacked his back. Scorpius had surreptitiously sent Rose a hesitant look, and she had smiled reassuringly.

She wasn't sure, though. She had been a bit nervous, as she knew that while Al would be enthusiastically received as he'd always been, she wasn't sure how her family would react to Scorpius.

Other than her father, it had been pretty good. Hugo, well, Hugo knew Scorpius from school, so he didn't have much of a reaction. Plus, after dinner he had dragged out his Arithmancy book to start studying for the next year, which left him pretty dead to the world.

And her mum, well, she was perfectly hospitable to Scorpius. She had greeted him pleasantly, asked him about Quidditch, though Rose could tell she was about as interested as when anyone in the family brought it up, which is to say, not incredibly. Hugo wasn't very interested, either. When Rose had asked him if he was considering Quidditch, since James had graduated and they were short a member, he hadn't looked up from the piece of meat he was cutting to say sarcastically, "Do I want to fall to my death in front of at least a thousand on-lookers, all in the name of sport? Yeah, sounds fun."

Which kind of settled the matter.

"I don't know what, if anything, put Dad in that mood," Rose said carefully, mind coming back to the present. And she really didn't know—she just had a hunch. One she suspected the other two had come to as well, though none of them brought it up.

After a lull in the conversation, in which there was some industrious scrubbing, Albus commented, "So, when do you think Hugo will be signing onto the Quidditch team?"

There was some chuckling, and Scorpius replied with mock graveness, "As soon as term begins, surely. We'd better warn Meg, Al. With him on their side, there's no way Slytherin will win."

Rose's smile kept intact even as she felt the urge to grind her teeth. It was like she couldn't go a day without hearing that girl's name. Megaera, the gorgeous, super-intelligent prefect-slash-captain-slash-girlfriend. _Won't people give it a rest already? I haven't seen such slobbering since Lily and I made the mistake of going to the beach with Victoire, Aunt Fleur, and her sister, Gabrielle, _Rose grumbled mentally, roughly scrubbing an already pristine stretch of pot. If one wanted to feel her self-esteem plummet or be blinded by waves upon waves of silvery or scarlet locks, that was the summer activity to opt for.

"Rosie, we're kidding," said Albus concernedly, gently prying the pot from her desperate grip. "Honestly, if he were ever to take an interest, I'm sure Hugo would be great."

"Yeah, after all, look at his family," Scorpius soothed, giving her hand a quick squeeze before turning back to the stack of crusted plates. Rose's heartbeat skittered.

"Of course I know you were kidding," she shot back with a tinge of breathless irritation, the sort of tone that tended to imply that a body would be more annoyed at you if she simply had the free time—a tone she had picked up from her mother. "The only person who grew up with Dad and Uncle George around and could still take that seriously is Uncle Percy. I was just remembering that thick Potions book we used this year, and wondered if the new one on the list will be any bigger."

"Couldn't possibly," Scorpius replied dismissively, passing another plate to Albus. "But if you're worried, once we hit Diagon Alley and pick it up, we can read ahead together and I'll help you."

"Don't suggest it," Al interjected, rubbing the plate with a dish towel. "A couple years ago I tried to help her in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and instead she ended up teaching me the proper execution of a Shield Charm and the history of werewolf rights."

Rose could have collected herself and fired off a long lecture on why such knowledge was important, but instead decided that, it being Al, it would be just as efficient to stick her tongue out. He replied in kind.

"Honestly," Scorpius commented with exaggerated indignation, though Rose knew he actually envied them. He only had one cousin, Aimon, and while they got on well, they frankly didn't know each other well enough to act that way. Rose, having almost too many to keep track of, couldn't really comprehend it.

"Boys," came her father's voice from the doorway. The three looked over their shoulders, up to their elbows in suds. "You'll be staying in the guest room, the next to last on the right, next to ours."

After he left, Scorpius looked at his friends and asked, "Is it just me, or did that sound…ominous, somehow?"


	3. Fwoopers and Glumbumbles

Ronald Weasley had been through a war. He had been in jeopardy, even if by association, since the age of eleven. He'd seen people he cared about injured or killed. In his current employment he hunted dangerous dark wizards every day, with only his wand and his wits to protect him. He was one of the Ministry's top Aurors, and that had nothing to do with his longtime friendship with the Head of the department—he was just good at what he did.

So why on earth was he having a problem just opening a door and talking to his daughter?

They had always been close. He always quickly tore into her and Hugo's letters while trying not top seem too excited, though there was no fooling Hermione. He dearly loved the days when he'd read them bedtime stories, and would always remember things like the time Rosie first used magic and accidentally turned Aunt Muriel's frock a lurid lime green with purple spots because, the innocent seven year old had explained, "I thought it would look much better that way."

So why was he hesitating just to go in and talk to her? Had he been a Gryffindor, or hadn't he?

Bolstering his nerve, he decided he would just knock and see if she were awake. She normally liked to stay up reading, but she's had a long day and might've been knackered. Certainly there had been snoring from the boys' room, which he had been monitoring like a hawk. Hermione had only managed to stop him from using an Extendable Ear by dragging him away bodily.

"Rose?" he asked softly, tapping the door with his knuckles.

A pause, and then her voice replied from the other side of the door, "Yeah, Dad?"

Damn. She was awake. Okay. That was fine. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Silently cursing, he opened the door and entered the room, shutting it quietly behind him. Rose was lying in bed with a book titled "Asiatic Anti-Venoms" and swinging her feet. She was wearing fuzzy white socks and an old robe she had gotten when she was thirteen and refused to part with, despite the fact that she had grown four inches since then. It was an attachment her father just couldn't comprehend, seeing as all his life he'd been forced to use the same old thing.

"What's with the book?" he asked, tilting his head. She certainly had inherited her mother's brains. Hugo, too. There was no way he would have voluntarily studied during the summer. Still, there was more alike in his and his daughter's temperaments than might first appear.

"Potions has been giving me trouble," Rose explained, slipping a bookmark between the pages and sitting up. She had, in fact, gotten an E in it during her O.W.L.s, which had sent her into a nervous tizzy that had only been salved by a combination of liberal amounts of chocolate, plus letters from that Malfoy boy and visits from Al and Lily. Ron had to admit, while he was rather determined not to like the boy, he'd been grateful for all the letters he had sent, which had cheered Rose up immensely even as they deepened Ron's worry about the boy's attentions to his daughter.

"Es and Os are a lot better than I did in Potions, and I still got into the Aurors," he reminded Rose, settling himself at the foot of her bed. "Or have you settled on a career that would require a lot of potion-making?"

"Still haven't settled on one yet," she admitted with a gusty sigh, setting her book on the nightstand. "I mean, Al and Scorpius have been talking things like the Aurors, and no offense Dad, but I'm not sure that's my thing." Under her breath, she added, "Also not sure I want _them_ doing it, but…"

They wanted to be Aurors? Well, he'd be pleased if Albus joined, as he'd always been fond of his nephew and he knew Harry would be concerned yet proud. But Malfoy?

On second thought, that _would_ give him a perfect way to watch the boy carefully, he reasoned, suddenly a lot happier.

"It's not so dangerous," he assured her kindly, though the tart expression on her face clearly stated that she knew this was a white lie for her benefit.

"So," she asked, settling against her pillows. "Did you need something, Dad?"

The moment of truth. Ron cleared his throat and glanced at the door, trying to come up with some way to bring this up that wouldn't cause either of them too much embarrassment. Or more than the whole thing entailed, anyway.

"Fwoopers and glumbumbles," he blurted out awkwardly, shifting a bit.

"Fwoopers and glumbumbles?" she repeated blankly.

Ron cleared his throat again. "The fwoopers and glumbumbles, your mum talked to you about that, right?"

"Talked…" Rose began, then stopped as her eyes widened with comprehension and mortification. She tugged her cinnamon-colored hair absently, a nervous gesture she'd had since she was little. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, I, uh…" Buggering hell, this was a lot harder than he'd thought it would be. As much as Ron had matured since his school days he still wasn't entirely patient, so he said outright, "Are you and Scorpius…do you have feelings for him, Rosie?"

Rose's jaw unhinged a little before she snapped it back up. Her freckled cheeks turning a faint pink, she asked, "How did you know? I mean—we're not together. We're just friends. Chances are, we always will be. But yes, I—yes."

Ron felt triumphant and sick to his stomach at the same time. On the one hand, his intuition had proved correct and his daughter—his darling, sweet, bright _only_ daughter that he loved very much—had feelings for a Malfoy. But on the other hand, he was right. _And_ they were not, in fact, a couple.

He let his breath whoosh out, having been unaware he was even holding it, and stared at his hands in his lap. "Of all of the times you did anything asked of you," he said without heat, "you couldn't have humored me when I told you not to get too friendly with him?"

"Dad_dy_!" she chided, nudging him with her foot. "That's not very nice, you know." She'd looked mortified and not particularly happy before, but now she had a slight smile on her face. Hermione had always told her what a pretty smile she had, which made even the usually sweet-tempered teen tend to get a sullen look and let her hair hang in her face. "You were so quiet and serious tonight you disconcerted him, you know."

"Good," Ron replied promptly. "Because you know, if he so much as lays a hand on you, I'll get all of your uncles—all five of them, and maybe James and Freddy, too—and we'll turn him into a banana slug. Or maybe get Kingsley to let us throw him in Azkaban."

He had expected her to laugh (though honestly, that didn't seem too bad of an idea), but instead she looked rather glum, despite the smile that still curved her lips. Her large blue eyes were downcast, and her brow slightly furrowed.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, worried. "Oi, Rosie, if he did anything to upset you—"

"No! No," Rose hurriedly interrupted. "He never did anything, I swear. He's been a great friend to me, Dad—remember like in that Quidditch match a couple years back? But that's all he'll be." She swallowed sharply, worrying her lip with her teeth. "Just a very good friend, like Beth," she added, referring to her best female friend outside the family, Beth Macmillan. She was a Hufflepuff in Rose's year, and had visited a few summers in the past.

"Good," Ron said, pleased, until he noticed the way Rose's eyes were glittering a bit with repressed tears. Immediately he shifted gears from protective to worried. "You—you really are upset, aren't you?"

Rose gave him a watery smile, refusing to actually cry. "I know I'm silly to get so emotional, but yes. I…I really do like him a lot. But, you know, he's seen me through it all, you know? I mean, Scorpius, Merlin, he's seen me falling off a broom, or miserable over a grade, or with my ratty old robe and slippers with that mask thing Lily and I picked up at Diagon Alley… My point is, he's seen me at my silliest or worst, and I doubt he could ever really see me beyond that, you know?" She sniffed, rubbing her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "Besides, he has a girlfriend, and she—she's the kind of person he should be with."

Ron was having a hard time pinpointing exactly what his feelings over this were, and what they should be. For all his leftover hate for the boy's father, he had to admit that he was glad his daughter had such a good friend. But he couldn't figure out where his hostility came from now. At the moment he suspected it was from Malfoy _not_ being in love with his daughter, something he'd been wishing and hoping for just a mere minute ago. Sweet Merlin, being a father really had made him absolutely stark raving mad.

With a sigh he collected Rose up against him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. Unable to come up with anything to make the boy like her, he settled with suggesting what would make him feel better, and generally uncomplicated his life by a wide margin.

"I could kill him if you want."


	4. Arriving at the Malfoy's

"Oh, I'm going to miss you so much," Hermione Weasley murmured into her daughter's slightly mussed brown hair as the two embraced tightly, most likely knocking the air from the other's lungs. They were standing in front of a large house made of white stone adorned with crawling bright green ivy. The gates stood next to them, tall and imposing, with the family car waiting on the other side, used for special occasions just like this.

"We'll be back for Christmas," Rose reminded her, though she gripped at least as tightly before she let go. "And I'll still send you letters, and by the summer we'll be all graduated and you'll be begging me to find a place on my own to live." She grinned cheekily.

Hermione laughed, but stepped back to let her husband hug Rose. Scorpius watched quietly, a bit apart from the others, feeling almost like some intruder. He'd felt mildly that way for a lot of the summer, actually, though Mrs. Weasley had been very kind and accommodating. Mr. Weasley had remained rather gruff, and as he embraced Rose, Scorpius thought he heard him mutter, "I could still kill him, you know."

Scorpius decided for his own peace of mind that he probably imagined that.

"And oh, Scorpius," Mrs. Weasley began, and surprised him by giving him a quick hug. He remained frozen for a moment, startled, but hugged her back after the pause. She pulled back and smiled at him. "Thank you for staying with us. It's so nice to finally meet you. And please tell your family thanks for letting Al and Rosie stay with them."

Mr. Weasley looked like he wanted to comment upon that, but instead nodded at Scorpius—which gave the seventeen year old hope that perhaps sometime in the not-so-near future that the man might actually come to like him, maybe—before asking Rose, "You sure you have everything?"

"Pretty sure," she responded, glancing at Al, who nodded. "Yeah, we should be fine. Got our bags all packed."

With a few more hugs the Weasleys got into their car and set off, leaving the three teens in front of the imposing gates of the Malfoy residence. The three Hogwarts students stared up at the metal bars, which seemed to reach on and on towards the sky, unmoving because they all knew this next part of their summer would be a trial at best. Neither Rose nor Al had ever stayed at the Malfoy residence before, largely because the trio were afraid of how Scorpius' family would react. Aimon and Meg were both frequent and easily accepted visitors, being of Slytherin pureblood parentage besides just being Scorpius' cousin and girlfriend respectively, but not only did Al and Rose have Muggle ancestry, their parents had also been at odds with Scorpius' father since they were young. Would he be able to ignore that while they stayed in his home?

"Ready?" Scorpius asked, looking from his male best friend to his female one.

"Not really," Albus replied with a half smile. "I'm still winded from Diagon Alley, personally. You go through that every year, Rosie?"

Rose giggled deviously, which made Scorpius grin despite the queasiness he felt over his friends and family meeting. "Oh come on, tell me you didn't enjoy taking Hugo through the apothecary."

"He made me hold his bag filled with salamander bladders."

"You're lucky he uses bags now," Rose replied airily. "He made me hold them in my hands when we were younger. Anyway, shall we?"

The three started up the drive after Scorpius pushed the gates open, having to trek a bit up the drive before they reached the door. The way was paved, white and neat, without even a hint of grass or weeds wiggling up through, and the lawn was perfectly manicured. While the Weasley or Potter homes were not exactly small nor low-class, but Al and Rose were still a bit surprised by their friend's home.

"Blimey," Al commented, staring at the intricately carved wooden door. "This is where you live?"

"Yeah," said Scorpius absently, letting go of his trunk to reach up and use the platinum knocker, which was in the shape of a curled serpent with emerald eyes. He had always found it a bit gauche and over-the-top, but his great-grandfather Aloysius Greengrass had put it on, so it seemed blasphemy for anyone to take it down. Purebloods could be a bit tradition-minded. "My grandparents have a fully-fledged mansion."

"Bloody hell," Al said faintly, just before the door swung open. For a moment it appeared the door had opened by itself, until they looked down to see the incredibly cheerful house elf standing before them, clasping his long-fingered hands together joyously.

"Master Scorpius, you have returned!" Dinky exclaimed happily, ushering them inside. He wore an emerald-colored tea cozy on his head, with a matching silk pillowcase. His bright green eyes were filled with excitement. "Mistress Astoria will be very pleased, Dinky knows. She has missed Master Scorpius terribly."

"It's nice to see you, Dinky," Scorpius said sincerely, stepping inside. Albus and Rose followed apprehensively, the former taking in the tasteful antiques that were Astoria Malfoy's biggest vice while the latter eyed the house elf with a slight frown. "Where _is_ Mum, by the way?"

"Mistress Astoria is seated in the dining room," Dinky answered, busying himself with their belongings. He practically had to yank Rose's bag out of her hand, and she began nibbling her lip in that worried way of hers as Dinky went off to put their things away. She stared after him, looking troubled.

"Scorpius," she said, grabbing his arm as he started towards the dining room. "You have a house elf?"

"Of course he does. You've known him for six bloody years and you didn't know that?" Al interrupted, craning his neck to look at the mural on the ceiling. "Merlin, mate, this is posh." He frowned faintly, and Scorpius knew just from looking at him that he was worrying about breaking something.

Rose looked troubled, running a hand through her hair nervously, tangling it. Scorpius stopped her, catching her hand and lowering it. "Don't do that," he said, trying in vain to fix her hair. He had heard her complain once to Bess about having it being frizzy, but he'd always rather liked it. Still, he wanted his friends to make the best impression possible on his parents, and crazy hair wasn't going to help.

As he smoothed her cinnamon brown locks away from her face, he realized belatedly how close the two of them were standing. She was looking up at him with an odd expression, and he could feel his heart start to pound a little faster. They were so close, he would only have to move a few inches to brush his lips against hers.

Suddenly he was nervous, too, and the scent of her shampoo seemed to be making his brain slow as molasses while he tried to remind himself, quite firmly, that he loved Meg. Which he did, and it was silly of him to entertain ideas about Rose. His good friend Rosie, who was completely out of the question when it came to dating.

Not that he'd been thinking about that.

"Al's family has a house elf," he reminded her, referring to Kreacher. A much safer thing to think about, too. After all, he didn't want to snog Kreacher. In fact, there were few things he wanted to snog _less_ than Kreacher. "So what's the matter if mine does?"

"It's…it's not, I just… It's just that you're…" she stammered, panicking as she seemed unable to articulate what she meant. But Scorpius knew exactly what she had been thinking.

"A Malfoy," he said. She looked down at her feet, guiltily. "That's why you're acting off."

"You know how my mum is," she mumbled, not looking up at him.

Scorpius frowned at her. "My family treats Dinky well, Rosie, and completely within the Ministry standards that your mum instituted. I thought you would realize that." He dropped his hand away from her.

"You know I don't think…" she began, then stopped and winced. "I'm sorry. I don't know what—"

Either out of impatience or to help his cousin save face, Al interrupted, "You know, we should really go to the dining room before they send out a search party." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited impatiently as Rose and Scorpius stepped away from each other uncomfortably.

Clearing his throat, Scorpius gestured down the hall. "The dining room's this way," he said, starting that direction. Acutely aware of Rose behind him, he exhaled slowly and tried to focus on something, anything calming. Quidditch came to mind: the swirling aerial acrobatics, the roar of the crowds, the sound of a bat slamming into the cold iron of a Bludger. It was something he knew, and was naturally good at. Something a lot less complicated than his family and his friends truly interacting for the first time.

He reached the dark wooden door leading to the dining room and paused, hand against it. Thoughts of chickening out flashed through his mind, but he reluctantly pushed them away. "Here goes," he murmured, and pushed the door open, stepping into the dining room.


End file.
